The Boy in the Field
by buttercups3
Summary: Takes place between Gamer in the Grease and Goop on the Girl. Sweets deals with his infidelity, while working on a case that forges a bond with Booth and Brennan based on their common teenage experiences.
1. The Truth Behind the Truth

_This is both a Swaisy and BB-Sweets fic. It answers, how did we go from Lance cheating on Daisy in Gamer in the Grease to them being hot and heavy in Goop on the Girl? And how did their relationship blossom to the point that Sweets might propose 5 episodes later? Further, I pose a case in between the two episodes that solidifies a bond BB and Sweets share over their teenage pasts. Also, I've always wondered what made Sweets give up his Christmas plans at home with Daisy to go to Brennan's dinner in Goop; he claimed, "I'm here for Agent Booth," which seemed very specific but unexplained._

_Spoilers are for season 5—Gamer, Goop, and maybe Bones on the Blue Line—haven't decided yet._

_Thanks to those who read and review! *hugs*_

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_Two weeks before Christmas 2009_

Lance was pacing a racetrack of anxiety into his office carpet at the FBI. He had asked Daisy to lunch thinking to confess his transgression from a month prior: making out with another woman in line for the movie Avatar. He had been back and forth over whether or not to tell his girlfriend what he had done. Hodgins had counseled to let it rest. He said that the Avatar girl had obviously meant nothing to Lance but the knowledge of her would torture Daisy. The kind thing to do was to let the memory die.

Lance paused to pick up his sumo stress ball and squeezed till it almost popped.

He was incredibly ashamed. He had never cheated before, and he simply could not believe that of all women he would have cuckolded Daisy. What was the term for a female cuckold? A cuckquean? Was that a real word? Lance used to read and memorize the dictionary as a child, and as a result sometimes he recalled words that were either archaic or distorted in the folds of his memory. He could never be sure which.

Lance hated himself. He and Booth had once characterized this phenomenon as the "little brain" superseding the big brain. Damn, it had seemed funny when it was someone else. Had he really become that base? He liked to think of his brain as a superior organ; it did not thrill him to think that his most animal instincts could override it.

Yet he knew that simple desire for another woman had not been the root issue. It somewhat surprised him that Hodgins, the misanthrope of yore, had pinpointed Lance's insecurity. Before the Avatar incident, Fisher had bragged to both Hodgins and Lance that he was nearing triple digits when it came to bedding women, yet only Lance had responded to the extreme. Over the course of his life, Lance had only slept with four women, including Daisy. It was difficult to believe that even those four had wanted him. One certainly hadn't wanted him once she had beheld the painful evidence of his past.

Hodgins had done an admirable job of reassuring Lance outside the Avatar theater. Lance could have paid him for counseling. Hodgins said, Lance homesteaded the land—it was quality not quantity that counted.

Indeed, Hodgins' compassion was a mark of his growing fondness for Lance. Once Hodgins had loathed Sweets' presence in his lab, breathing down his neck, waiting for the scientist to break down after his breakup and the loss of Zach. But since then, Hodgins had learned that Lance had all the patience in the world for his impertinence. Lance insisted on being a refuge of comfort even for the unwilling. Hodgins had responded with friendship.

While Lance was glad of his bond with Hodgins, he was not glad of the task before him. Though he had expressly asked Daisy to drop by with the full intent of telling her the truth, he sensed Hodgins was right—this might break Daisy's heart and end their relationship. Lance was a therapist, after all, and he did not believe that confessing to infidelity was always the right move, especially if guilt was his main motivating factor. But there was a chance that Daisy would find out, and in this case, it was only fair that she hear it from him. Lance knew Hodgins wouldn't tell, but if Fisher was as casual with sex as he'd insinuated, he might tell Daisy without thought for the consequences. After all, Fisher and Daisy were both Brennan's grad students. They socialized together occasionally.

Lance had no more time to ponder. He heard a gentle knock at his door, which surely signified it was Daisy. She was one of the only people who respected his practice enough to actually announce her arrival before barging in. He opened the door and her bright hazel eyes were before him.

"Hi, baby!" she said, bubbling with glee at the mere sight of him. Her zeal for life was infectious. She stood on her tip toes and kissed her boyfriend's lips with relish. "Where did you have in mind for lunch?"

Daisy was wearing simple black slacks and a forest green top. Her slim figure was so inviting that Lance pulled her in for a lingering hug. He clung to her, scared.

"Well, Lancelot, we don't have to go out if you don't want to," she suggested, feeling his reluctance to let her go.

Lance's face fell. Oh how he wished he had brought her in for a booty call. What if they never made love again? He couldn't face that prospect.

"Actually, Dais, could we talk about something before lunch?" His tone was serious, and Daisy, who was working on picking up social cues (and adorably improving), furrowed her brow and folded her hands in her lap as she sat on his couch expectantly.

"Of course. What's on your mind?"

She looked so fetching. How could he have cheated on this beautiful, compact creature? He wanted to ravish her now. Tory Payne was but a revolting memory.

"Daisy, I thought I had grown out of it, but I'm afraid I still struggle with some self-image issues."

She nodded. She had first-hand experience with those as a former bulimic. Her face showed concern and love.

"Part of me doesn't really believe that a woman could love me the way I look. You know…damaged." Lance knew this insecurity ran far deeper than his scars. He had been tiny for so long, sometimes he forgot that he had achieved a stature of over six feet tall. Girls used to laugh at him when he even looked their way. For years he had responded by blushing and rushing off.

"Excuse me?" Daisy said with disbelief and a flash of anger. "Damaged—you mean, the scars? Lance, what are you saying? You don't believe that I love you? I _do_ love you! I adore you! You are utterly handsome, beautiful to me! How dare you call yourself damaged!"

Lance was a bit taken aback by her outburst but was determined to press on.

"Thank you for saying that. You may want to reevaluate how you feel about me when you hear what I have to say next." Lance had the desperate urge to flee but he anchored himself to his chair.

"That's impossible," Daisy said simply.

"It's not that I don't believe that you love me. It's that I don't think women in general want me. I was small for so long, and I've always had these…you know, marks on me. Anyone who sees me without a shirt on can tell right away how messed up I am."

Daisy shook her head and looked out the window. Her expression unreadable.

"A month ago I was in line for Avatar and-"

Daisy cut him off. "Lance, I think I know where this is going, and you don't need to say anything. You don't need to confess. Unless you slept with someone else, don't say anything more." She sighed and looked away. "You and I, we're extremely passionate people. I know that you've had some problems believing that someone could love you given your past experiences. But you have to let the past go. You are loved. You don't need to seek out affection like a dog searching for scraps." The simile was so choice that it cut Lance a little.

"But…but how did you guess?" was all he could muster. He was seriously confounded. He was the one who read people, not Daisy. How had he given himself away? And why was she so accepting?

"That night after you saw the movie, when we made love…it's like you were desperate to prove something to yourself and to me. I'd never seen you like that. I wondered for awhile if we were going to break up. If I should break it off. But I realized that I didn't want to. I knew when I first met you that you were going to be the most intense, challenging, fascinating, evolving person I had ever been with. I made a promise to myself not to give you up easily even when things got hard. You're…special, Lance."

"Special, like short bus special?" Lance said, his mind dimly taking in the fullness of what she had just said.

"Like you survived hell and it's a long, labyrinthine passage back to the surface, you know? I admire you more than anyone I've ever met. You are the most generous and patient person. You're far from perfect, but you never, ever expect anyone else to be either. You are a good soul, you can't stand the thought of hurting someone deliberately."

Lance put his face in his hands briefly and then looked up. He had forsaken Daisy and all she had were compliments for him? He didn't deserve her. His eyes were watery. "How can you praise me at a time like this? When I've failed you? I don't deserve you."

"That's where you're wrong. You've always been wrong about this. Everyone deserves to be loved, especially you. You are very lovable." She walked over and crouched before her distressed boyfriend. She took his hands. "Lance, I think it's natural for our attentions to stray sometimes, but it's our actions that matter."

"I'm so sorry. I won't fail you again."

Daisy sighed. "I believe you." After some thought she said, "Lance, it doesn't matter that I've slept with more people than you have. I mean, am I right or am I right that our love life is a-may-zing?"

Lance smiled weakly. "You're definitely right."

"Of course I am. I'm usually right," Daisy stated in a superior tone. Same old Daisy. Was she really ok with this? "Can we grab lunch now? I'm really hungry and I only have a 45 minute break before I have to sort through the bones of a body festering in some rank, unidentified substance. Frankly, if I didn't have better control of my gag reflex, as you well know," she winked, "then I would forgo lunch. But, I'm starving!"


	2. The Boy in the Field

After lunch, Lance was to meet up with Booth and Brennan before all three headed off to interview a witness in her home. He had not been briefed at all on the specifics of the case. As Lance was heading to Booth's office, he was still in awe of Daisy's behavior. The woman was simply not given enough credit by anyone—not even him. He wondered if Daisy had committed her own indiscretion, but it didn't matter. Her love for him appeared unconditional. It reminded him of his parents. Even when he had made horrible mistakes growing up they had forgiven him. Could it be that she was becoming family? His love for her swelled.

He rounded the corner and stepped into Booth's office, which was filled with pale yellow sunshine and two of his favorite people.

"Hiya Sweets," Booth greeted him with a grin. Brennan was sitting in chair watching Booth toss his football up and down.

Dr. Brennan craned her neck to look at Sweets, who was standing behind her. "Dr. Sweets would you care for a mint?" Lance shrugged, mumbled thanks and took an Altoid.

"So here's the deal, Sweets," Booth began. "We found the body of a 16 year-old boy—Matt Schriber—in a field behind his school. The school's best guess—he jumped, didn't die from the fall, and crawled away. But Bones and the squints have found some evidence of violence on his skeleton. We haven't gotten a lot of answers so far. We're going to question the mother again and then swing by the school."

Brennan crunched loudly on a Altoid.

"Why are you bringing me along?" Lance asked. He was having trouble concentrating on what Booth was saying given his recent conversation with Daisy and the incessant crunching.

"Well, from everything we've heard, this was kind of a weird kid."

"Weird how?" Lance asked patiently.

"Like he memorized his textbooks, got a perfect score on his PSAT, was exceptionally bright. But his classmates said he was socially awkward and not particularly well liked," Booth explained. "He misread social cues and you know, hugged people he wasn't close to. He occasionally lost his temper and banged his fists in class."

Brennan interjected, "He seems to have had a very high IQ." Crunch, crunch.

Lance processed the information, cringing a bit at the familiarity of this boy's story. Lance had been a social outcast in high school due to his high intelligence, poor social skills, and young age.

"Bones, you'll break your teeth on those Altoids—why don't you suck on them instead?" Booth asked with annoyance. He snatched away her tin.

"I had a large quantity of onions for lunch," Brennan explained, scowling at his audacity in taking away her mints. "I grow impatient when waiting for Altoids to dissolve. Give them back!" she pleaded, in the process breathing on Booth.

"Whew! Bones!" Booth exclaimed, fanning in front of his nose. "You did have onions!"

"Did Matt have an Autism Spectrum Disorder diagnosis?" Sweets asked, trying to recapture their attention. When the two began flirting it was always hard to make progress.

"A what? I dunno," Booth said carelessly. "Let's go question the mother again. See if we can get to the bottom of this." He swept over to Sweets and gave him an affectionate pat, which in turn gave Lance a little thrill.

Dr. Brennan turned to Lance excitedly and said, "Mrs. Schriber has a very enjoyable Beagle! You will find her most pleasing!"

Lance smiled and lifted his eyebrows. "The woman or the dog?"

Dr. Brennan hadn't picked up on Lance's sarcasm. "Dog. You once informed me that you are a dog person. When April dumped you."

Lance ignored the last bit. "Yes, Dr. Brennan. I do like dogs. Thanks for remembering." Wow, she was certainly making progress. Not only did she remember Lance's preference, but she was bonding with him over their shared interest. He liked to think that his counseling had played at least some role in her growth.

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The team of three pulled up to Mrs. Schriber's house, which had an extensive gated garden space out front. It was winter now, but Lance imagined she had an abundance of vegetables in the spring and summer.

At the sound of the car Mrs. Schriber came out, her little dog bounding down the steps to greet them.

Dr. Brennan made a beeline for the dog and began lavishing it with affection. Lance introduced himself to the human and then to the dog. He quickly became enraptured by the little hound. She rolled over and Dr. Brennan and Lance actually had an elbow war to pet her stomach.

They were both cooing over the dog when Booth complained, "Can you two get a grip with the dog already?" He and the mistress of the house were heading inside. It was cold out and tiny flecks of snow were beginning to fall. They looked like white stars on the dog's black back.

The four adults and dog sat in a room filled with windows and plants, but it was suddenly so gray that Mrs. Schriber had to turn on a lamp. A fire roared to Sweets' right, and he instinctively leaned in to take in its warmth. He looked at Booth, questioning with his eyes if it was ok for him to begin the conversation, and his friend nodded.

"So Mrs. Schriber, could you describe any behavior of Matt's that might be considered odd?"

"My son was a highly intelligent boy. From a very young age he was asking me questions like, what causes an echo? How do we know infinity exists if we can't define it numerically? I mean, very curious. He'd ask things I'd never even considered."

"And socially?" Lance probed.

"Socially, Matt was awkward to be sure. Occasionally, he would just embrace a complete stranger or touch kids at school who were not his friends—Oh excuse me, the phone!" Mrs. Schriber departed briefly to answer the ringing that had interrupted her.

"Kind of like you, Sweets," Booth said in a low voice.

"What is kind of like me?" Sweets asked with mild irritation.

"You're a big hugger."

Lance rolled his eyes. He had tried to hug Booth that one time, and he was never going to hear the end of it. Yet, Booth had a point. Lance had been affection starved early in life and did crave physical reassurance. But that most likely was not the problem with Matt. No, Matt sounded in some respects more like Dr. Brennan. He probably had Asperger's. Sometimes Lance wondered if Brennan had the tiniest touch of Asperger's herself.

Lance tried aloud, "It seems to me that Matt had Asperger's Syndrome."

"What?" Booth asked. "Ass-burger? That sounds like a nasty fast food entrée."

Brenan corrected him, one of her favorite pastimes. "Not Ass-Burger, Asp-ergers." She enunciated very clearly like Booth was a child or chimpanzee.

Booth rolled his eyes.

"Actually, it probably doesn't matter since the American Psychological Association in its infinite wisdom is proposing to do away with the diagnosis and fold it in with high-functioning autism."

"Psychology is so imprecise, what does it matter what you call the problem?" Brennan asked automatically. Even she seemed bored of her own distaste with psychology.

"It's the stigma—hello, Mrs. Schriber! Just a few more questions."

Lance continued to ask about the boy from the field and learned that he hadn't been diagnosed with a disorder, but this was not altogether surprising. Asperger's sometimes resembled typical teenage boy anti-social behavior.

In the back seat of Booth's SUV, Sweets was busily processing the conversation with Mrs. Schriber. They were headed to Matt's (former) school. He watched the snow fall and had a sense of longing for something…what? Ah, Lance shouldn't have been surprised. Whenever the snow came, Lance missed his parents. He had grown to loathe Christmas. And Christmas was right around the corner.


	3. The Sting of Reminders

_Lance and Daisy with their texting-ness. Sigh. Makes me feel old. ;) __(BTW, I can't get FF to keep the carrot symbol before the 3's in D's text, so just imagine it there. FF with it's darn editing.) _

_RT, yes, I'm totally imposing my ideas about Asperger's onto Sweets. :) But he is a compassionate soul, so I think he and I would share this idea. Thanks for reviewing, my friend! You are so faithful. It means the world. Thanks also for your expertise lately.  
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_And thanks to those who are also following. Those alerts and favorites make me smile!_

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As Booth pulled up the SUV to Matt Schriber's school, Lance was reading a text from Daisy.

"Must miss dinner. C U at ur place. 333"

Lance wondered at Daisy canceling on dinner. She hadn't done that in awhile. Perhaps she just needed some space after their conversation. He couldn't blame her. She had taken things so well, like a saint really. Guilt settled into his stomach like ice water. He should bring her some flowers. Then he thought disdainfully, isn't that what all men do when they've cheated?

Lance was also confused. He wanted to think the best of Daisy, but why was she just accepting his bad behavior? He wondered if something else was going on with her, and it made him feel guiltier still that _he_ could doubt _her_. He felt like he should text her back, but all of the cutesy symbols he envisioned sending on winged radio waves seemed too trite. He thought, _I love you, Daisy, I really do_ but didn't end up typing anything.

Glumly, Lance realized that the snow had turned to sleet. Typical Washington, DC, in the winter. School was letting out and teenagers were opening colorful umbrellas against the gray, diving into idling cars. Lance had no desire to get out of the vehicle he was in, but Booth urged them on. Matt's friends were waiting for them at the counselor's office.

"The counselor sounded like a real be-otch on the phone," Booth assured them.

"A what?" Brennan asked confused. She stuck an umbrella out the door, her lips pursed.

"This cursed swamp!" Booth grumbled at the shift in the weather, as he exited the vehicle. Nobody was in a very good mood.

Lance lifted up the back of his black trench coat over his head in an attempt to keep his hair dry. It was freezing and the damp penetrated his bones and made his teeth chatter. Brennan looked small in the icy rain, and if Lance was detecting correctly, she seemed anxious. He suspected Brennan hadn't had the easiest time in high school. He felt a little apprehensive himself looking up at the big blocky building. There was something gothic about the image.

They found their way into the administration wing and to the counselor: Misty Lape. They knocked and entered. Lance couldn't help but search Misty's walls for her degrees. A masters' in school counseling—she had gone the ed school route. Lance tried not to judge, but Misty's appearance was almost repulsively filthy. She had on a dumpy v-neck t-shirt with a prominent coffee stain and ill-fitting stretch pants. Lance put a lot of stock in appearing put together for his patients. If he appeared organized and neat, they could trust him to help them make sense of their personal chaos. Misty yawned obviously.

"Sorry, I was up late last night talking to a student who _really_ needed my help," she said, as if to explain her rudeness.

Booth picked up on the implied slight and said, "Well a _dead_ student of yours really needs some justice, so how's about we call in his friends? I'm Agent Booth; we spoke on the phone. This is my partner, Dr. Temperance Brennan, and a psychologist with the FBI, Dr. Lance Sweets."

Lance noticed that Booth had called him doctor. Lance fought hard not to smile. He liked when Booth showed someone who's boss.

She regarded Lance with scorn. "You? A psychologist?"

Lance straightened up. "Me. A psychologist."

Misty rolled her eyes. This seemed to agitate Brennan, who began pacing. Lance figured Misty was feeling inferior considering he was a good 20 years younger than her and had a flashier degree. She may have been threatened, but she was also downright unpleasant.

"Do you want to see them one at a time?" she asked, yawning again.

Booth deferred to Lance with his eyes. Lance shook his head. "All together. They're more likely to talk to me that way."

Misty actually snickered. Brennan lunged a little and grabbed one of Misty's pens, which she began clicking furiously as she paced. Misty went to retrieve the students.

Brennan said aloud, "I do not like that woman. As much as I dislike psychology in general, her training strikes me as inadequate. She lacks people skills!"

Booth and Lance exchanged little smiles. When Brennan criticized someone's social skills then you knew they had problems.

Lance admitted, "She's a little unkempt and abrupt. But maybe the students like her." Unlikely, he thought. They probably hated her and would be even less likely to talk to him now. To them he was just another therapist and an outsider to boot.

Two hunched boys and one towering girl entered and sat. They all looked a bit sullen and were definitely what would be categorized amongst adolescents as nerds. The office was overcrowded with 7 people. Misty introduced the students: Seamus, Pat, and Grace.

"Would you mind waiting outside?" Booth asked Misty. He didn't need to wait for Lance's approval. There was clear consensus that no one wanted her around, especially not the teens, who seemed relieved when Misty sloppily tromped off.

Lance regarded the kids quietly. Brennan finally looked like she might speak if Lance didn't, so he said, "Do you guys need anything? Some water?" They shook their heads and didn't make eye contact.

"This must be very difficult for you. I won't keep you here very long," Lance said as respectfully as possible.

Lance had had only one real friend in high school—an antisocial boy by the name of James—Jamie. Lance remembered with deep pain how his therapist had encouraged him to apologize to Jamie after Lance had attempted to take his own life at age 14. Jamie hadn't been able to look at him. Lance still remembered the pimpled boy and his grave disappointment in his friend. They never really spoke again after that. Lance hated to think that he had traumatized Jamie, but the truth was he had. There it was. He hurt people all the time. Why couldn't he stop even now?

"I just want to ask a few things. First, did Matt show any signs of agitation on the day he…that day?" Lance asked carefully.

The three kids eyed each other. Grace said, "Matt was a really good person. He was weird, but he was nice when you got to know him. He didn't do anything wrong!"

Booth said, "That's not what he asked, Grace."

Lance shot a glance at Booth that silenced him. "Grace, did something happen that day? Maybe Matt did something out of the ordinary, like ditch class or cheat on a test?" Lance was guessing based purely on body language.

Seamus blushed at his words, so Lance turned to him. "It's ok. He's not in trouble. We just want to know what happened so that we can give some closure to his family. To you even."

Seamus said without looking at Lance, "Matt was the best student at the school. But he got sick—really sick with the flu—and missed some classes. We had this Latin exam the day he…died." Grace and Pat flinched at the word. "He cheated, ok? He brought some translations from home and used them. The teacher—Mr. Baras—found out, we think. You should talk to Mr. Baras. He might have seen him last."

Pat spoke up, "He didn't. I did. I saw Matt last. He was upset and crying, running down the hall. I tried to grab his arm but he shrugged me off. I didn't go after him. It's my fault." Pat broke down and started crying. He grew hysterical.

Lance crouched down in front of Pat. "Hey. It wasn't your fault. I know this is hard, but we'll get answers for you." Pat actually leaned forward into Lance and began sobbing on his shoulder. He put his arm around Pat and let him cry. The other kids had tears streaming down their cheeks as well. Lance didn't look at Booth and Brennan, but he sensed their tension.

Grace sniffed, "Matt had a hard time at school, you know. People weren't nice to him. The jocks would like steal his underwear—he always had that dorky underwear, you know, those old brief things! But, he was nice. He'd help you understand physics. Really get it, like better than the teacher could explain! I hope you find out what happened to him."

Booth said, "Thanks guys. You've been really helpful. You can go."

Pat wiped his face and looked at Lance like he'd just appeared out of thin air. He shuffled off in embarrassment and the others followed.

"That was fun," Booth said ironically and kicked at a table leg.

Brennan was staring out the window, unmoving.

"You ok, Bones? Bones?" Booth put his hand on her shoulder.

"Yes? Yes, I'm ok."

Lance cocked his head at her, encouraging her with his eyes to speak. Amazingly, she did.

"It's just, in high school people didn't like me very much. I didn't have any friends except one freshman year—Nancy Chung. She was rather nonconformist, and her parents were extremely strict. One day she left school and didn't come back."

Lance's eyes were filled with compassion for Brennan, and Booth looked concerned.

"What happened to her?" Lance asked.

"She went to a psychiatric hospital, or so I heard. Maybe the other students fabricated the story. But anyway, after that I was alone."

The word 'alone' hung in the air like it was made out of lead. For awhile no one moved. Lance was thinking about what it looked like when his wrists had opened up and fresh, red blood had poured out. It was so much brighter than he thought it would be—his blood. He shook off the image and looked at Booth, who was also lost in thought. Booth had once told Lance that if it hadn't been for his grandfather, he probably would have killed himself. Had Booth tried it? Had his grandfather caught him in the act? Lance wondered how literal Booth's statement had been.

Brennan turned suddenly to Lance, so suddenly that he jumped a little.

"You were nice to that boy," she said bluntly.

Lance wasn't sure how to respond. "Err…" He wondered if Dr. Brennan needed a hug too. Hell, all three of them probably did.

The day had been grim, and Lance knew they'd soon have to talk to Mr. Baras, the Latin teacher. Right now, he just wanted to go home. Lance didn't want to face what he thought he already knew about Matt's demise: that the boy had killed himself. Matt had thrown his own body out a window and crawled away to die alone in a field.


	4. The Rock of the Team

Booth drove Bones back to the Jeffersonian and then offered to take Lance home. All three of them had been very quiet in the car, engrossed in their own stifling memories. They were going to question Mr. Baras tomorrow at headquarters in the interrogation room. Lance hadn't offered his theory that Matt's death was a suicide. They still needed to understand who had inflicted the violence on the kid. It was clear from forensics that Matt had been pushed, his back punctured by a metal object.

Booth was eying Lance now that Brennan was gone, Lance sensed. The psychologist had moved into the passenger seat and was resting his wet head on the window. The icy drops outside the glass looked like viscous tears.

Before Lance could second guess himself, he asked Booth, "Did you ever try to hurt yourself?"

"What?" Booth responded gruffly. He shot a withering look at Lance to try and shut him up.

"You said that if it weren't for your grandfather…"

"I know what I said, Sweets. Don't repeat that again." Booth sat in a sharp silence. The SUV rounded the corner to Lance's apartment complex. Its tires skidded across the slush.

Lance finally said quietly, almost inaudibly, "I did."

Booth stopped the car. Chunky gray ice now obscured their view through the windshield. "Look, Sweets. We don't know what happened to Matt yet, ok? Don't go jumping to conclusions!"

Lance felt like a struck puppy. He had just confessed something immensely personal and had been rejected. He turned away.

Booth softened his tone, "Sweets, what's going on with you?"

"I cheated on Daisy, Booth. I messed up."

Booth exhaled. "Does she know?"

"Yeah, I told her. Today. She took it well—she'd already guessed."

"Oh."

"Oh what?" Lance asked trying to read Booth's expression.

"Maybe Daisy…nah. Never mind. Just let it go, Sweets. Move on. You love her right? We all make mistakes." Booth was staring at the sleet, as if it held answers.

"Why am I so bad at this, Booth? My parents were together for over 60 years. They were never unfaithful. Their love was perfect!"

"Sweets, listen to me." Booth was gazing intently at him now. "NO one's love is perfect. Stop beating yourself up. Especially since Daisy seems to have forgiven you."

"You think she cheated too."

Booth didn't say anything.

Lance sighed and got out of the car. "So do I."

Booth called, "See you at 9 tomorrow in the interrogation room, Sweets. Get some sleep. You look like hell." Booth's jaw was set.

Lance knew now. Booth had tried to harm himself, too. He never felt more grateful for Booth's Pops, whom he had met several months ago for the first time, than he did at this moment. He couldn't image his life in these past few years without Booth. Booth was a number of people's rock. He was Lance's rock.

Lance charged up the stairs to his 3rd floor apartment and caught the cat—Knox— just before he could escape out the front door.

"Knox, no!"

The tiny gray cat with white socks was purring like his nightly escape ritual was a terrific game. Lance pet him and tucked him under his arm.

"Aw, come on! KNOX!" Lance had just beheld Knox's handiwork. He had unrolled the toilet paper again and dragged one end from the bathroom out into the hall, like a limp, white snake.

Then Lance jumped because Daisy was asleep on his couch. She'd said she was going to skip dinner. Why was she here already? If Daisy had been anyone else, he wouldn't have believed that she could have slept through the ruckus he had just caused, but she always slept like a passed-out kid. Lance was a tosser, turner, sweater, frequent insomniac, who sometimes dreaded the mere sight of his bed. Daisy's comatose slumber was just one of the many things he found charming about her.

He messily rolled up the toilet paper, shoving it into the bathroom. Then he removed his trench coat and suit jacket and unbuttoned his soggy work shirt. In his undershirt and slacks, Lance perched himself on the coffee table across from Daisy and roused her gently.

"Hey, darlin," he said quietly. She opened her eyes and smiled slightly. "I thought you were coming over later." He was rubbing her on the back just as he might have done with Knox. Like a cat she stretched. She was adorable.

Daisy sat up. "Oh, Lancelot. I wasn't feeling well."

"I'm sorry to hear that. Are you ok?"

"I dunno, Lance. I just needed a nap. Angela and Wendell—well Wendell—suggested we have dinner tonight. I proofed a chapter of his dissertation, and he wanted to treat us. Is that ok? We're supposed to meet up in half an hour." Her voice was oddly formal, and she wasn't touching him.

"Uhhh…" It didn't sound like a good idea to Lance, but what could he say? "Sure, just let me change and we can go. It's really wet out there."

Lance wondered at her behavior. She seemed very distant for Daisy. Normally, she would have kissed him—correction, they probably would have slipped in a quickie—by now. She was definitely punishing him. And he deserved it. Maybe he should have gotten her those flowers.


	5. The Puke in the Bush

The sleet had stopped—basically the only positive development so far on this interminable day. As Lance and Daisy drove to the restaurant, Lance couldn't help but think about how he had confessed his suicide attempt to Booth. At least he thought he had—it had all been a bit ambiguous. Booth hadn't responded directly but had sort of acknowledged it. Lance sometimes still found himself a bit confused by his relationship with Booth.

In fact, just several months ago, Booth had asked Lance point blank whether Lance's main role in his life was friend or therapist. Booth had been having trouble at the shooting range and worried that he'd lost his edge as a sniper. Booth had gone to Dr. Gordon Gordon Wyatt for advice when Lance had unwittingly hinted that he was obliged to report to the FBI. At first, it had seemed that Booth didn't get that Lance really cared about him, but eventually Lance felt they'd clarified the situation: he was Booth's friend first, psychologist second.

Still, Lance knew that Booth had never really dealt with the complicated events and emotions that composed his past, let alone his present, and Lance was the only real therapist available to his friend. Booth had been through so much—an abusive father, helping to raise Jared, weathering the hell of war, a brain tumor. Now Booth was dealing with intense feelings for his partner, Dr. Brennan. Booth _needed_ a therapist. That was certain. It was difficult for Lance to draw the line between his professional and personal obligation to his friend. Perhaps Lance had shared too much in the car. He wanted Booth to feel safe with him.

Why was everything in life so complicated?

Lance had been pondering these things in silence, while Daisy seemed to be engaged in her own morose reverie. She really was not herself this evening.

"Daisy? How are you feeling?" Lance asked his girlfriend tenderly.

"A little queasy. I'm fine." She was short with him.

Lance parked, and they entered the burger joint. It was awfully nice of Wendell to take them out. He didn't have the money, Lance knew. Lance wished he could secretly pay for the meal and spare Wendell, but the intern had too much pride. Wendell was such a quality guy—Lance really liked him. Though he wasn't so sure about the relationship with Angela. He was rooting for Hodgins and Angela to reunite, which still seemed within the realm of possibilities.

Lance and Daisy spotted Angela and Wendell already seated at a booth. They joined the couple. Angela was such a beauty, attired in a black flowery shirt, and Lance had to fight not to stare.

The males exchanged friendly, "Hey mans," and fist bumps.

Angela looked a little frightened by the prospect of sharing her dinner space with Daisy, but luckily for Angela, Daisy wasn't particularly chatty tonight. They ordered, and Lance thought it strange that Daisy wasn't drinking.

"So Daisy, that was nice of you to help Wendell out with his chapter," Angela offered congenially. She was one of the more socially adept people at the Jeffersonian, Lance admired.

Wendell interrupted, "Help is an understatement. I was a wreck. Writing is not my strong point. She spent hours on it! I really appreciate it, Daisy."

Interjected the lackluster Daisy, "I'm an excellent writer and editor."

Lance smiled a bit. Daisy was so bad about the self praise. He'd have to remind her later to internalize those thoughts or allow someone else to verbalize them on her behalf. But, unfortunately, they erupted spontaneously from a place of insecurity.

Lance said, "That was nice of you, Daisy," trying to demonstrate how she didn't need to compliment herself. He would do it if given the chance.

"Lance is a very slow reader, so I don't often have him proof read for me," she explained to the group.

Woah, ouch, Lance thought. Where did that come from?

"I'm not that slow, Daisy. I just like to be thorough," Lance said nervously. God, was this going to become an April situation? April, his ex-girlfriend, had take to disparaging Lance in public when their end had neared.

Daisy shrugged. "Angela, I liked your hair better with bangs." Lance cringed. Daisy was slipping into her worst social habits. He wanted to save her, but she seemed cross with him and hell bent on being her own worst enemy.

"Um, Wendell, what are you doing for Christmas?" Lance tried.

Wendell replied, "Going home to see my family. Actually, I leave in a few days. My mom really does the place up right for the holidays! Mistletoe, holly, silver ribbons on the tree!" Wendell declared.

Lance felt a little sad, thinking about how his own mother used to lavishly decorate at Christmas. He hadn't celebrated Christmas at all since his parents had passed on. He thought fleetingly that his anti-holiday feelings might affect Daisy. They hadn't even talked about Christmas plans yet. He didn't want to bring her down anymore than she already was.

The waitress brought three beers, and Lance dove into his so greedily that Angela laughed out loud.

"Thirsty there, Sweets?" she asked cheerfully.

Lance was glad of her presence. Between Daisy's sourness and Wendell's ebullient holiday spirit, Lance was getting depressed.

The waitress slapped down their salads, and Wendell had unfortunately chosen a blue cheese dressing. The unfortunate part was that Daisy felt the need to point out:

"That dressing reminds me of that toe fungus you had for awhile over the summer, Lance. Remember? It was really hard to get rid of. We tried everything and finally, only Vicks VapoRub worked!"

Lance was utterly mortified. "Um Daisy," he whispered to her, "that's inappropriate-"

Angela, who was cracking up, interrupted, "Not to mention disgusting!"

Wendell slid his salad away, repulsed.

Lance wondered when Daisy would be finished punishing him.

Dinner went on in a rather awkward manner, although things did improve when the couples basically paired off to talk—Wendell and Daisy discussed forensics and Angela and Lance chatted.

"Sweets, you're in trouble, apparently," Angela whispered.

"What, you mean the toe fungus?" he rolled his eyes.

"What'd you do to bring out the beast in Daisy?"

"I'd rather not talk about it."

Angela raised her eyebrows but relented.

Part of Lance felt jealous of Wendell for having Angela. She was mature, centered, elegant. It's not that Daisy wasn't beautiful, she was. But she still had a lot of growing to do. Lance found himself wondering if it was more than just his own insecurity that had driven him to cheat. He was insecure about Daisy, too. Was she right for him? It bothered him that his friends seemed annoyed by her. Angela had once called Lance 'Daisy's trainer.' He did feel that way sometimes—it was hard to be at ease in social situations when Daisy was around. Lance never knew what she was going to say, and if he'd have to clean up her mess.

As the couples parted for the night, immense relief washed over the psychologist. He just wanted to go to sleep. It had been the longest day. He could hardly believe it was still going on.

In the car, Daisy said to Lance, "You need a hair cut. Your neck is all hairy."

Lance sighed, "Daisy, could you lay off? You've been at me all night. I know you're upset with me. Why don't you talk about it instead of taking shots at me?"

Daisy stared out the passenger window of Lance's car. "Lance, I'm going to be sick. Pull over." Then more urgently, she ordered, "Pull over!"

Lance did so abruptly. Daisy _was_ sick. She vomited in some nearby bushes. Lance's irritation at her melted into feelings of helplessness and concern. He held her hair back as she gagged and heaved. She wiped her mouth with her hand and began crying. He pulled her into him and hugged her while she wept and shook a little from the exertion of puking.

"Shhhh…" Lance tried to calm her down. They stayed standing there for a minute longer until Daisy felt ready to get back into the car.

She cried all the way back to his place.


	6. The Hitch in the Plan

_Thanks to those who are reading! You are lovely! DRAH-MA ensues. :)_

_RT, Knox was being a bad kitty, but I'm glad he reminds you of your little Max. Aw, kitty love._

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Lance had helped Daisy into his bed and put a trashcan by her, in case she threw up again. Knox was craning his neck to peer in, but finding nothing but a plastic bag, he departed for some other part of the apartment. So much for getting any rest tonight, Lance thought grimly. Daisy didn't look feverish though. Her brown hair was splayed out on the pillow in a pretty arc. She stared into space.

Lance was half lying down next to her, stroking her head and whispering words of comfort.

"It's ok, Lance I'm not sick," she insisted.

"Daisy, you threw up," he said, marveling at how silky the brown strands of hair felt between the pads of his fingers.

"I mean, I don't think I have the flu." Daisy closed her eyes briefly. "I'm late."

These words did not compute for Lance. "You're…"

"My period, Lance. I'm almost a week late. I might be pregnant." She turned on her side away from him, as if she could block out this potential reality by eliminating Lance from view.

This was a shock. Lance lay fully down and put his arms around his little girlfriend, who began crying silently. His body melted into hers, filling in the space between. He was frightened…but also felt happiness. Elation, almost. He wanted a baby?

Lance didn't speak but just held her, processing his own emotions. He heard the flapping wings of a pigeon outside his window. He felt oddly grown up. The force of his love for this woman had seemingly multiplied tenfold at the prospect of her carrying his child.

Daisy broke the silence, "I'm not ready for this, Lance! I can't do this! I have so much more to accomplish in my career. I can't go and be a mother. I CANNOT DO THIS. Do you understand?" She was pressing her hands over her eyes.

What was Daisy suggesting—an abortion? Lance cringed, his brown eyes watery.

"Daisy, we don't even know if you're pregnant."

She scoffed.

"You could just be stressed out. You've been killing yourself on your dissertation lately, and well, I've been causing you a lot of stress this past month, while you've been questioning my fidelity. It's a lot to bear."

She shook her head.

"It's true, Dais. Look, if you feel well enough to be alone, let me go over to CVS and get a pregnancy test. Maybe it can put your mind at ease, or we can begin to discuss real options."

Daisy rolled over and said, "An abortion _is_ a real option, Lance." His girlfriend was so easy to read. Her hazel eyes told him she was panicked.

Lance took her face in his hands and kissed her long and hard.

Very close to her face he whispered, "I won't desert you, Daisy, I'm going to be here no matter what. I love you so, so much. I know it may not seem like it lately, but God, I'd do anything for you. Ok?"

She nodded, tears streaming down and turned back on her side.

"I'll be right back from the drugstore."

The whole way to and from the drugstore, Lance was contemplating this potential development. Daisy had known all day that she might be pregnant—had known when he'd confessed to cheating on her. Lance almost wanted to call Booth, but he knew it wasn't appropriate. Yet Booth had been through this with Rebecca. He might have some advice if Daisy turned out to be pregnant. Still, calling him at 1 in the morning was not an option.

* * *

Lance galloped up his stairs with the small package that might decide his fate. It was now 1:30 in the morning, but he was no longer sleepy.

Daisy was sitting up in bed. She had put her hair into a characteristic high ponytail and was looking composed. He sat down next to her, and they read the instructions for the test together, as he rubbed her back. Daisy finished the instructions far before Lance and looked impatient as she waited for him to catch up. This was a tradition whenever they read anything at the same time.

"Ok, you ready?" Lance asked her finally.

"Yes, Lancelot, I've _been_ ready."

He was glad to hear the return of his nickname and kissed her neck affectionately. She didn't respond as well as he'd have liked, but she didn't push him off either. She simply shuffled off to the bathroom to pee on the stick, as so many women had done before her—an age-old ritual of modern society.

After a moment she called Lance into the bathroom, and they began to wait. Lance hopped up on the counter, and Daisy sat on the floor leaning against the tub.

"Lance, if this is positive…I can't. I'm just not ready. I want to be like Dr. Brennan. I want to be a famous anthropologist. I've worked _so_ hard."

"Daisy, I want you to have everything in life that you want. But this is my potential child, too. Can't I have a say?"

"Lance, you deposited some sperm in me and it fertilized an egg. Don't make this more personal than it has to be!" Daisy spat.

"More personal?" Lance shook his head in disbelief. He tried to keep his voice steady, but he was instantly angry. "Daisy is that what making love to me is for you? Me…depositing some sperm?" He was incredibly hurt.

Daisy pulled her knees up and put her head on them. Lance could no longer see her face. He didn't want to. He couldn't believe she was suggesting they abort a child without even discussing other options.

She spoke but her voice was muffled. "No. Of course not. I'm just scared."

This made Lance's momentary ire lift a little, but he suddenly wanted to know the answer to the question that had been weighing on him all day. "Daisy, have _you_ ever cheated on me?"

Daisy looked up at him, her eyes widened. "Are you serious? No! I've..." she shook her head from side to side. "Are you asking me this because you can't believe I'd forgive you?"

Lance was ashamed. His cheeks flushed. He hung his head and rubbed the back of his neck.

Daisy continued, "My affections may have strayed once or twice, but I've never acted on anything."

"Oh, I thought maybe…even Booth thought…"

Daisy inclined her head sharply toward him. "Booth?" she asked with disgust. "God, It's so hard for you men to…" She sighed. "Look, Lance. You were attracted to someone else. You didn't follow through. I may or may not be pregnant with your baby, so can you just focus on this right now?"

Lance was a little horrified at his own behavior. He slumped down off the counter and sat by her on the ground. He put his arm around her and leaned his head on her shoulder. Tears welled up in his eyes, and he didn't even care if they fell.

Daisy reached over and wiped a tear that had slid down Lance's cheek. They waited.


	7. The Face in the Crowd

_Thanks for the reviews! :) RT and sweetfavoritethings, your satisfaction with the results may be somewhat delayed as this is not a Swaisy chapter. It's back to the case at hand for a chapter jam-packed with our favorite surrogate family. _

* * *

Lance was stumbling up from the metro, trying to make it to FBI headquarters by 9 am without slipping on the ice that had nestled into the corners of the stairs. It was already 8:50. Lance didn't want to be late for the interrogation—it wasn't professional. As he emerged from underground into the blinding white light it was snowing again, which surprised him. DC didn't usually get much snow in December. It was quite pretty seeing the unclothed cherry trees dusted with wintry soot. He noticed that he was being stared at by a teenage boy. He did a double take. He didn't recognize the boy. That was odd. Lance almost began to approach the boy, when he retreated into the flurry of government officials headed to their respective offices.

Lance felt uneasy, but his destination beckoned him. As he was about to enter the door of the FBI he ran into Dr. Brennan, which made him feel a bit better about running behind schedule.

"Dr. Sweets," Brennan stated. "You look tired." She was prim and elegant in her creamy trench coat and brown boots.

"Dr. Brennan," Lance nodded. "I am tired. I got almost no sleep last night."

Dr. Brennan didn't inquire any further, but Lance didn't mind. Her taking note of his physical state was practically on par with throwing her arms around him for a hug-at least in the restrained world of Dr. Brennan. Besides, he was trying not to think of the pregnancy test that had come up negative. Just to be sure, Daisy was going to the doctor next week. It might have been too early to tell or something. Lance didn't really understand these mysteries of womanhood and just had to trust her.

What troubled Lance most in all of this was that he was actually disappointed by the outcome of the test. The timing wasn't right, but he seemed to want a baby. He thought about his own father and curling up in his inviting lap at Christmas to read stories. It was nearing Christmas, and it would be so nice to have family again—the kind you could always depend on, who would never leave you. The kind who decked the tree and sang carols with you at the piano bench. Lance didn't do any of those things anymore. He wished the holiday could be eradicated from the calendar.

He looked at Dr. Brennan out of the corner of his eye and smiled to himself. She wasn't exactly family, but she was close to it.

"Dr. Sweets, I think you and Booth should conduct the interrogation today," Brennan said to him as they stepped into the elevator.

"Oh, why?" Lance asked, curious.

"I'm not feeling quite myself. I'd rather just listen."

This concerned Lance. Brennan didn't usually voluntarily give up her interrogation privileges without a fight.

"Is there something you'd like to talk about, Dr. Brennan?" Lance tried to read her expression. She was uneasy.

"I…I don't like this case. I don't have very positive memories of high school."

Lance stuck out his bottom lip. "Neither do I, Dr. Brennan. Neither do I."

"But Booth, he was on the football team, dated numerous young women; he was very popular. He seems to be nostalgic for his adolescence, as if he preferred it." Brennan seemed confused by this, almost jealous.

Lance shrugged. "Remember awhile back in one of our counseling sessions when I asked Agent Booth to tell you a vulnerable story from his past?"

"Yes."

"What did he tell you about?—You don't need to relate the specifics," he interrupted when Brennan looked to protest.

"He told me about a time in high school when his friends were tormenting another student, and he didn't do anything to stop them."

Lance smiled as they exited the elevator. That sounded like Booth, he thought, proudly. "Dr. Brennan, Agent Booth may have been popular, but I think he probably has just as much difficulty reconciling his adolescent past with his present as you and I do. We've all changed a lot since then."

"I was looking through my high school yearbook last night, and I wasn't in any picture except my senior portrait. No one signed my yearbook except some of the teachers." Dr. Brennan looked so vulnerable, her eyes sad.

She was being uncharacteristically confessional. Lance was worried that this was about more than just the memory of being rejected by her fellow classmates. He knew that she had been put into foster care at age 15 and that her foster parents had been cruel to her. They had locked her in the trunk of a car for breaking a dish, for heaven's sake.

Lance knew a thing or two about cruel adolescences. While his adopted parents had been very good to him in his high school years, his fellow students hadn't. It was after a particularly brutal bullying incident that Lance had tried to take his own life. His parents had pulled him from school, and he completed his high school degree without ever setting foot back on campus. He had gone on to college instead.

Lance put a hand on Brennan's shoulder to stop her. "Dr. Brennan, if this case is bringing up difficult emotions for you, it's completely understandable. Would you like to schedule some time to talk today? You know, I'm always available to you."

Brennan had a far off look in her eyes, but Lance was not at all surprised when she abruptly stated, "No," and charged ahead.

Lance sighed. These people were so difficult to reach sometimes. He wished they would just open up when they needed to. Humans were such astonishingly social creatures, Lance marveled. It still amazed him after all of these years of studying psychology that simply by the act of talking, humans could begin to heal.

Lance followed the retreating Brennan, and they met Booth outside of the interrogation room.

Lance said, "Hey, Agent Booth. I'll be coming in with you." Booth raised his eyebrows as Brennan shuffled off into the concealed room. He looked at Lance for an explanation.

Lance responded, "She's having a bad day. This case isn't sitting well with her."

Booth looked concerned but put a hand on Lance's back to give him a friendly shove into the interrogation room. There sat Mr. Baras—a scowling, wrinkled man who looked like he had been hardened by life in Stalin's regime. He was emaciated and looked far too old to be a high school teacher.

Lance and Booth questioned Mr. Baras for a while, exchanging the occasional glance. Mr. Baras revealed that he had caught Matt cheating on the Latin exam and had reprimanded him. He'd told Matt that the punishment was a failing grade on the test, a week of detention, and academic suspension. Matt had grown so angry that he had pushed Mr. Baras and left in a huff.

"Mr. Baras, were you aware that Matt had Asperger's?" Lance asked him.

Mr. Baras looked surprised. "No, no."

Booth said, "Your punishments seem a bit harsh for a kid who could have had his world turned upside down by even a minor disruption to his schedule."

"I swear, I didn't know. I thought he was just awkward," Mr. Baras insisted.

"Thanks for your time. We'll be in touch," Booth finished abruptly.

The two tall FBI men in their crisp black suits rejoined Brennan out in the hall.

"Did we learn something of value in there?" she asked, having not picked up on anything herself.

Lance offered, "He's obviously lying about something. The question is—is it murder?"

Booth nodded. "Any ideas on what else it could be, Sweets?"

They paused as Mr. Baras emerged and glared at them briefly before leaving.

"Man, he looks like a Scooby-Doo villain," Booth declared shaking his head.

Brennan said, "A who? What?" Her striking green eyes widened at this unfamiliar term.

"You know—"

Lance interrupted, "Later, Agent Booth." He was impatient. "Today when I was getting off the metro there was this kid, who looked around 16, staring at me. Can you get me a yearbook from Matt's school? I have a hunch."

Booth looked curious but also seemed to trust Lance's instincts without question. "Alright, Sweets. I happen to have one in my office—I was looking for kids who might have interacted with Matt in clubs and such. Actually, he wasn't in a single photo except his portrait. Kind of strange, huh?" Brennan shrank away slightly and mumbled something about needing to leave. "Bones, we'll see you later," Booth said to her, his eyes following her as she left.

Lance was now really worried about Brennan. He hoped she'd at least open up to Booth. He could tell that Booth already detected something was amiss with his partner.

Lance followed Booth into his office and began searching the pages of the yearbook, while Booth checked his messages on speaker. It was quite the familiar gesture, Lance noted, smiling a little that Booth felt so comfortable with him. One message was from Rebecca.

"Seeley, it's Rebecca. I need you to pick up Parker today from school. There's been an emergency at work. Actually, if he could just stay with you through tomorrow, then that would be great."

"Oh s-," Booth swore. "I can't pick up Parker, I have to interview another witness with Bones from 2-3."

"I'll do it Booth, I don't mind," Lance offered kindly.

"But you took metro—"

"Daisy's on rotation at the Jeff this week and next, Booth. I can take her car."

"You two patched things up then?"

Lance looked up from the book and shrugged. "We had a little pregnancy scare last night." Booth's eyes bugged out slightly, and he exhaled in a loud whistle.

Lance interjected, "It seems like it'll be ok. The home test came up negative." He already felt better having shared this with his friend. "We didn't get much sleep last night, but I think we ended up in a better place."

Booth shook his head, "Nothing like a pregnancy scare to bring two people together. SWEETS, you have GOT to be more careful. You don't want to end up in a situation like me and Rebecca."

"But you have Parker—he's the most important thing in the world to you, Booth. You're a great dad!"

"Sweets, listen to me. I do love this kid more than anything in the world—more than you can imagine till you've become a parent yourself. But it is so hard being a single parent. It kills me, and it kills Rebecca. Do it right, Sweets: get married, get settled, then have kids."

Booth looked so intense that Lance was a little frightened at his recent desire to spawn. Lance looked down at the yearbook and then held it out to Booth, pointing at a photo.

"Here. Here's the kid who was staring at me on the street this morning. Daniel Chace."


	8. The Spirit in the St Nick

_Sorry, RT-there is more suspense ahead as to the teen. This is a rather fluffy chapter, in which Lance basically processes things. You know, like we do on PMs. Oof-Gretchen keeps trying to type to you-it's driving me crazy! Shoo! :) Sweetfavoritethings, thanks for the encouragement! Peanutmeg, I live for Sweets-Booth, Sweets-anyone interactions on the show. There are never enough! Which is why fics are a necessity for any Sweets fan. Booth's not actually in this chapter, but Sweets is obsessing over him. I imagine Sweets does this a lot. Why else would he write a BB book, you know? _

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Lance was headed over to the Jeffersonian to borrow Daisy's car in order to pick up Parker. He couldn't get Booth's words out of his head. _Do it right, Sweets: get married, get settled, then have kids._ Lance sighed. He didn't want to wait until the universe happened to throw him the mystical soul mate. He wanted to heed his friend's advice, which he knew was sound, but really, you made your own fate. Lance had to believe that, otherwise he was just some hapless pawn tossed about on a cruel chessboard. Lance did not want to amount to the bad things that had been done to him. His actions, his choices framed his life's outcomes. His parents had taught him that.

But Lance wasn't just pondering his own feelings as a result of Booth's words. As usual, he was extremely sensitive to Booth's emotional state, and he sensed that Christmas was the most difficult time of year for his friend regarding parenthood. Rebecca had been known to haul Parker off for a Vermont ski vacation without much warning. Booth could never completely rely on getting to see his son during the holidays. Indeed, before leaving Booth's office, Lance had asked him if he had Parker this Christmas, and Booth had solemnly replied, "No, he'll be in Quebec." Lance's heart ached for Booth. He was a wonderful father. In some ways, Booth reminded him of his own dad.

Furthermore, thought Lance, he couldn't remember the last time Booth had had a date. It was natural to feel lonely at the holidays without a partner. This Christmas would inevitably be harder for Booth on this front than the previous one. Ever since Booth's tumor had been removed and he'd had an epic dream in which he 'd been married to Brennan, he had become acutely aware of his love for his partner. He'd wanted to proclaim this to Brennan earlier in the year, but Lance had encouraged prudence. He hoped he'd counseled Booth correctly, but he also knew that Booth had his own mind. If Booth hadn't told Dr. Brennan yet it was because he believed the timing wasn't right. This was not going to be an easy Christmas for Booth.

Daniel Chace—Lance pondered next. He had asked Booth to call in the kid for questioning tomorrow. Lance had only gotten a fleeting glance at the boy, but he seemed to have ethereal, almost feminine features. Lance was brimming with curiosity as to what this boy might mean for the case. Why had he sought out Lance or had that been some sort of coincidence? The team needed to act fast on the case, as school let out this week for Christmas break.

Besides Booth and Daniel, Lance was also worrying about the two most prominent women in his life—Daisy and Temperance Brennan. Brennan had seemed really down earlier today. Daisy's mood, however, had cheered significantly once the pregnancy test had come up negative. It had been well past 3 by the time they'd gone to bed this morning, and she'd snuggled up to Lance like nothing had ever gotten between them. He had to admit, this expert in human behavior was completely bewildered by Daisy.

With all of these thoughts consuming the young psychologist, he entered the Jeffersonian and began to seek out his girlfriend. Something was amiss. Dr. Brennan was on the platform directing the intern sternly. Wasn't she supposed to be somewhere else?

"No, that's incorrect. Look at the Parietal and Occipital bones—see how they are—Miss Wick?" Brennan tapped her foot impatiently.

Lance felt bad—he had obviously distracted Daisy with his presence. Now both women were regarding him, one looking severe, the other a bit like a begging dog with its paws up.

"Dr. Sweets?"/"Lancelot!"

"I'm sorry to interrupt. I just needed to borrow Daisy's car to pick up Parker for Agent Booth," Lance said apologetically.

Angela came up behind Lance. "Hey, Sweets. Actually, I'll take you. I was heading out to pick up some food—I skipped lunch. Then I can drop you and Parker back at the FBI."

"Sure, if you don't mind. Thank you, Angela. Um, Dr. Brennan, aren't you supposed to be interviewing someone with Agent Booth right now?" Lance asked in confusion.

"I informed Booth that he could handle the interview by himself. It is vital that I spend this time instructing Miss Wick. She is my intern and my responsibility."

Angela and Lance exchanged glances. Lance asked, "Dr. Brennan, could I have a quick word with you?" His tone was gentle, so Dr. Brennan took off her gloves to follow him to her office. Daisy looked a little worried as if their conversation was going to be about her. "I'll be out in a minute, Angela."

"Ok, Sweets. I'll pull the car around."

In Brennan's office, Lance thought carefully about how to phrase this. "Dr. Brennan, sometimes when we're faced with reminders of traumatic incidents from our pasts, we want to retreat—to hide in our work or avoid our friends."

Dr. Brennan had pulled up her chair to her desk and was staring at her computer.

"Besides all that, it's Christmas. Christmas is a difficult time for those who've had family problems in the past. Are you doing something with Max this year?"

Brennan fixed her green eyes on him. "No, I'm going to El Salvador to do volunteer work."

Lance nodded, "Running away."

"I'm not running," Brennan snapped.

"Well, you don't have to run from Agent Booth or anyone else here. You don't have to try to leave before we leave you. No one's going anywhere."

"I don't know what you're talking about. I'm the one going somewhere."

"Well, you're a highly intelligent woman. I'm sure you'll figure it out," Lance smiled and headed off to meet Angela.

As he was leaving, he felt a warm hand on his arm. He looked down into the pretty face of his girlfriend.

"Lance? Wanna come over to my place to stay tonight? I thought we could start over." This was all said rather suggestively, Daisy's eyes shaded by batting eyelashes.

"What about your roommates?" Lance asked. He was always apprehensive about staying the night at Daisy's. She was somewhat unfettered in her affections.

"They won't mind," she winked.

Lance shrugged and kissed her. "I'll see you tonight then." Something was bothering Lance about Daisy. It was like, the pregnancy scare was over, so back to business as usual. And business in Lance's relationship with Daisy was almost always sex. With their busy schedules, there was little time to do anything _except_ sleep together. Still, what kind of man complained about that? Lance thought with a little smile.

* * *

Driving to pick up Parker, Angela and Lance were fairly quiet at first. Angela had on a deep purple scarf that contrasted beautifully with her eyes. Lance couldn't help it, though he had told Hodgins that any attraction he'd had for Angela had been wiped away by meeting her terrifying father, he still found her utterly gorgeous. He even felt a little nervous alone in the car with her. To boot, she had mistletoe handing from her rearview mirror.

"Uh, Angela, can I ask you a question?"

"Sure, Sweets."

"Do you think Dr. Brennan's alright?"

Angela shifted in her seat. "I dunno. Why do you ask?"

"I think this case is getting to her. It's drumming up feelings she's repressed from her teenage years. And…well, it's almost Christmas, and she's not spending it with Max."

The corners of Angela's mouth turned up slightly; she seemed touched at his concern. "Well, I'll check on her, Sweets." She glanced over at him and smiled fully now.

"What are you doing for Christmas?"

At this question, Lance went very pale and turned away to look at the gray afternoon sky. He swallowed so loudly that he felt like the children on the playground might have heard it—one of whom was Parker, wearing a giant puffy coat.

Angela had stopped the car.

"Err…I, I don't really celebrate Christmas." Lance said, fleeing out the passenger door as quickly as possible.

Angela's smile melted. "Don't celebrate Christmas?" She held his arm for a moment. "The man who Brennan once told me wore elf ears to the diner to teach her about the importance of lying about Santa Claus to children doesn't celebrate Christmas?"

"Oh that," Lance almost giggled and then reddened. "I just wanted to help lighten the mood."

"Well, I guess you'd better retrieve Parker, but don't think you're getting off the hook that easily, Sweets. I'm getting to the bottom of your rejection of Christmas. The last thing we need is another Grinch like Brennan on our hands."

Lance hurried off. Angela had no idea what she was getting into, asking him about Christmas. He caught sight of Parker and waved. The sweaty boy came galloping up to him. Lance couldn't help but smile.


	9. The Psychologist Under Pressure

_Thanks, friendly readers! **Mendenbar**, Booth called the school to arrange the pickup...does that work? ;) Yes, Christmas has the potential for miserableness, but you know where it ends-with The Goop on the Girl Christmas party! Booth's toast is pretty heartwarming. **Selin74**, thanks so much! **RT**, Angela can be very persistent, indeed. And Daisy does think things revolve around her a little too much. She needs to get a grip! **Peanutmeg**, Oh a Parker lover? Then this next scene's for you. :D_

* * *

After Angela had dropped Parker and Lance back at the FBI, the two were on their way to Booth's office. Lance was carrying Parker's winter parka over his arm and hurrying to keep up with the boy who was trotting along at a rapid pace.

Parker slowed suddenly and looked up at Lance to ask a question. "Dr. Sweets, do you have a girlfriend?"

Lance smiled, "Yeah. Her name's Daisy." Where was this going? Lance wondered. He was really fond of Booth's boy.

"Daisy—like a flower?"

Lance nodded.

"Do you guys kiss?" Parker's expression betrayed revulsion at this prospect.

"Uhhhh…sure. Why do you ask?" Lance lifted an eyebrow.

They had reached Booth's office, but it was vacant. Parker flung himself in a chair and began mangling the bobble head. He then made it attack Booth's stapler.

"Because…" Parker trailed off wistfully. The bobble head did a nose dive and clattered—plastic upon plastic. "Does Dad kiss Bones?"

Lance laughed at Parker's use of his dad's nickname for Dr. Brennan. Kids.

"No, Parker. They're just partners." Lance though, Yeah. _Just_ partners. He remembered back to a few Christmases ago when Booth and Brennan had kissed under the mistletoe at Caroline's request. He still wondered if there had been tongue, but they'd withheld that information from him. Should I be disturbed that I'm standing in Booth's office wondering if his tongue has been in Dr. Brennan's mouth? Probably, he decided, and shook his head. He needed to stop tinkering with his book on their partnership.

"Good, kissing is gross. But…Dr. Sweets?"

Lance nodded again at the boy.

"Dad seems sad lately," Parker said, looking quite dejected himself.

Lance squatted down by Parker to be at eye level. "Well Parker, your dad misses you when you're not here for Christmas. You're the most important thing in the world to him," Lance explained sincerely.

"I miss him, too." Parker's face fell even more. "I wish Mom wasn't making me to Canada. Dr. Sweets?"

"Yes, Parker?" Lance was beginning to feel the slightest bit weary at the barrage of questions. Besides, he had a lot of research to do to prepare for questioning Daniel Chace tomorrow.

"Where are your parents? You seem kind of lonely."

Parker's words sliced through Lance's heart. The kid clearly had a knack for reading people, just like his father. It was eerie.

At this moment, Booth strolled in looking casual and tousled Parker's hair. "Hey there, Parker!" But Booth stopped short at the serious expression on his son's face.

Lance was hoping to get off the hook. "Agent Booth," he greeted, scrambling to think of a question to ask Booth to redirect Parker.

But Parker asked again, more forcefully, "Dr. Sweets? Aren't you spending Christmas with your family?"

Lance looked helplessly at Booth. He could not think of a single appropriate thing to say. Booth looked grim and wasn't offering any suggestions. He was probably thinking about his own impending separation from Parker.

Finally Lance settled on, "I don't have any family, Parker." Just the act of stating such a severe reality made Lance ache. He wondered why he had phrased it like that. It was overly harsh. He attempted to recover. "But I'll spend Christmas with my girlfriend, Daisy. Remember? Like the flower."

Parker nodded solemnly. Lance gave him a friendly fist bump and said goodbye. He found himself wondering if he _would_ spend Christmas with Daisy. He hadn't asked her. Wouldn't she want to spend it with her family? They actually lived fairly close in Baltimore.

As Lance was retreating into the hallway, he felt a hand on his shoulder. It was Booth.

"Hey, Sweets. If you don't have anywhere to go for the holidays…"

"Thanks, Agent Booth. But I…" he started to say, I'll be fine, but then he realized that his friend might have no one to spend Christmas with either with Brennan and Parker gone. He searched for the right words to say that he'd be happy to be there for Booth. He needed Booth too. But the moment passed.

Booth had walked away, as Parker had called for him. Damn, thought Lance. Damn! I missed it. Why am I always missing the chance to tell Booth that I care? Once in his office, Lance shoved a bunch of scratch papers off his desk into the trash can in an angry swoop. It felt good to do something physical. All these people he loved in his life—he had a funny way of showing them he cared. If he wasn't careful he was going to lose them. As Parker had so astutely extracted, Lance had no family other than his friends at the Jeffersonian. And he wasn't always as secure in them as he wished.

* * *

It was the next day around 5pm. Booth and Lance were sitting with Daniel Chace in the interrogation room, Brennan listening in. She hadn't even asked to participate. She still seemed withdrawn.

Daniel had very fine features, as Lance remembered. He was 16, had an eyebrow ring, and was very skinny, adorned in a black t-shirt and black skinny jeans. With a wig on, it would have been impossible to identify his gender. He seemed to be wearing concealer on his cheeks and forehead.

The boy was rocking himself gently by his elbows.

Booth began. "Daniel, did you know Matt Schriber very well?"

Daniel said, "Um no…not very well." He was visibly shaking.

Lance was very concerned at his behavior. "Daniel, you're safe here. You don't have to be frightened. You're not in trouble."

Daniel looked away.

Lance tried, "I saw you outside of the metro the other day. Were you looking for me?"

Daniel didn't speak. He had tears in his eyes. This boy was traumatized. Booth looked at Lance for an explanation of the strange behavior.

Lance made his voice very soothing, very calm. "Daniel, have you ever interacted with Mr. Baras?"

Daniel cringed at the name, and Lance nodded to himself. Mr. Baras was hurting these children, he conjectured. The question was, in what way. Psychological, physical, sexual? Lance was glad Mr. Baras wasn't nearby, because he had the sudden urge to pin him to a wall. Or maybe let Booth do that.

"Yeah, I had him for Latin last year…" Daniel's voice trailed off to a whisper. He had a soft voice to begin with.

"Would you say you had a pleasant relationship with him?" Booth asked, catching on.

Daniel closed his mouth and looked away. "I'm, I'm not…" he was speechless.

Booth looked like he was about to speak again when Lance subtly gestured for him to remain silent.

"Daniel, I know this must be hard to discuss. But being intimidated or bullied by teachers is far more common than you may think. There's nothing to be ashamed of. It's not your fault. Did Mr. Baras say something or do something to hurt you?"

Daniel still wouldn't respond.

"Did he ever touch you?" Lance asked suddenly. Booth jumped. Daniel also jumped and looked down fiercely. "Ok, I'm going to take that as a yes, that happened. Look, Daniel, it's not your fault. We're going to get you some help. But first, we'd really like to know the truth about Matt."

Daniel locked Lance with his eyes. He refused to look at Booth. Daniel's voice was trembling as he said, "He hurt Matt. Matt told me about it. Mr. Baras, he didn't like guys like me and Matt."

Gay boys? Lance thought and sighed.

"Daniel, I know that it seems like the world is coming down around you, but I promise you, we can get you help and things can get better. I promise." Lance wanted to squeeze his hand, but he made the call that this kid did not want to be touched. He handed him a tissue instead and stood up.

"We'll be right back," he finished reassuringly.

Lance walked out the door; Booth followed his lead. They went into the observation room to rejoin Brennan.

"I'm going to need to take this from here," Lance said earnestly. "I'll arrange for him to be counseled. No more questions today, ok?"

Booth replied, "Sweets, sexual molestation. This could well be motive for murder. Maybe Matt threatened to tell, and Mr. Baras killed him."

"Agreed. It's a possibility. But right now, I need to focus on the boy in that room. My first guess is he was raped and so was Matt. That kind of reaction implies assault to me, not just molestation."

"Raped?" Booth gasped.

Brennan jumped in immediately, "It's estimated that perhaps one in every 8 or 9 rapes is of a male. Perhaps more, because they are less often reported than female rapes."

Booth was shocked.

Lance said, "Well, I'm also thinking our victim, Matt, was potentially gay. He may have been struggling under a tremendous burden. Asperger's, his sexual identity, and a potential rape. I wouldn't take suicide off the table." Lance sighed heavily. He was trying to stop his mind from whirring and sucking him back into the darkness of his own past.

"Wow, this case really sucks," Lance said aloud, just to say something. He shook his head.

Brennan nodded contemplatively. "I would like to have a drink."

Booth nodded. "Founding Fathers in an hour? Sweets?"

Lance was touched that Booth was including him. "Deal," he replied.


	10. The Story in the Antlers

_Thanks again to those following and reviewing! *hugs* Glad you all liked the Parker bit! I'll be wrapping up this story in just a few more chapters centered around the episode, The Goop in the Girl! :)  
_

* * *

Lance entered the dimly lit Founding Fathers and saw his two friends seated at the bar. It was frigid outside, and he rubbed his nose back to life. He had just gotten off the phone with Daisy and had wanted to ask her if she was going home for the holidays, but he just couldn't. He didn't want to know if he was going to be alone. Part of him just wanted to cling to her, pull the covers over his head, and simply survive this Christmas. He eschewed the pine trim hung over the bar with merry crimson ribbon and strode moodily up to Booth and Brennan.

Their chestnut heads were tucked together in intimate conversation. From behind they almost appeared to be lovers. Lance felt another pang for Booth. That was Booth's Christmas wish—to be with Dr. Brennan. Lance mounted a stool next to the burly agent; it was always safest to have Booth in between him and Brennan, just in case sparring ensued. Lance ordered a gin and tonic and barely minded when he got carded. Usually, it embarrassed him. Booth didn't even snicker this time—he had other things on his mind apparently.

Booth's eyes bored into the side of Lance's face. "Is Daniel going to be ok?" he asked the psychologist.

Lance shrugged. "Maybe," he answered wistfully and took a giant swig of his drink. It burned a little going down and tasted as bitter as he felt. Daniel's plight was really getting to him. His mind wandered to a dark place. _His biological father jerking him close. His rough hands on Lance's tiny, cold body—the calluses catching on his skin._ Lance shivered at the memory.

"How does someone recover from something like that?" Booth asked Lance.

For a moment, Lance thought Booth was talking about him rather than Daniel. Then Lance turned sharply to Booth and gave him a look as if to say, I'm living proof that people can recover from something like that. _You're_ living proof that a man can move on from physical abuse and become something great. They stared in silence for a long moment. Each understanding the other. Lance stole a glance at Brennan, who was looking curiously from one man's face to the other.

Brennan cleared her throat and broke the spell. "Hodgins called a few minutes ago. He went back to the school yesterday and still found no evidence of a struggle by the window from which Matt fell. I don't think we're going to get Mr. Baras for murder. We've nothing to go on."

Lance nodded, "I think you can't find anything, because Mr. Baras didn't commit murder. I went over the profile again before coming here. I think he's a sexual predator plain and simple but not a killer."

"_You filthy, filthy boy. No one will ever love you. I can barely stand to touch you myself!" Lance's biological father growled. Fear and self loathing filled little Lance's body cavity to overflowing. He felt like he might strangle on his own pain. His father's hands were so large they covered him, swallowed him. Lance's silent tears streamed down onto his naked chest. _

Lance shook his head from side to side, clearing the memory. Not here, not now.

"Do you think Max expects me to spend Christmas with him?" Brennan asked suddenly.

Both Lance and Booth turned their heads sideways.

"I think family expects to spend the holiday together. Yeah," Booth responded bitterly. Missing his son preemptively.

Suddenly, Angela greeted the three and sat down next to Brennan. She shivered a little from having come in from the cold. She removed her long, black coat gracefully and shook her ebony locks out of her purple stocking hat. Several men turned to stare.

"I tell you, it's been quite a day. I can't believe people like Mr. Baras exist, let alone that we might not be able to get him locked up," Angela lamented.

Dr. Brennan responded, "Well, we're not so sure he did commit murder, Angela. But we should see if we can find any evidence of rape on the victim—Matt Schriber that is." She turned to Lance, who was gazing into his drink like it was a crystal ball. "Do you think that Daniel will testify regarding his own rape?"

Lance pulled his eyes away from his drink with effort. "Um," his voice cracked. "I plan on talking to him about the importance of testifying." This made Lance feel a bit hypocritical. Even if his own father had been caught, he doubted that he would have talked at trial. There were things that had happened to him that he had never uttered aloud. He probably never would.

Angela ordered a drink. The squat bartender looked her up and down. Lance rather wondered what it was like to be that good looking—spellbinding. He couldn't fight the feeling that he was ugly—no matter how often Daisy called him beautiful, handsome, cute.

Angela looked at Lance sidelong. "So, Sweets. You going to tell me why you're void of the Christmas spirit?"

Booth jumped in, "It's because I found that ridiculous elf hat and burned it!" He clapped Lance on the back, who smiled weakly. It was nice of Booth to try to deflect Angela's question.

Lance _had_ lost that elf hat, come to think of it. He decided he needed a new seasonal hat to help distract himself and everyone else from their loneliness. His real father (not the one who had hurt him) had taught him the importance of not taking himself too seriously. Anytime he felt weighed down to the point of buckling, he tried to think of a way to lighten up. Christmas was one of the worst times of year, but he wouldn't let it defeat him. He'd pick something up at a Christmas store on the way home.

"Dr. Sweets, you should consider volunteering in Latin America. I assume even psychologists are needed in some capacity there." Brennan looked doubtful. There was a pause. "Perhaps not." She frowned.

Lance shook his head. "I already volunteer nearly every Sunday. I don't need to go to Latin America for that, Dr. Brennan."

Angela asked, "Where do you volunteer?"

Lance regretted opening this can of worms. He didn't care much for sharing about his personal life outside the Jeffersonian. He had been caught off guard by his friends' attention to his holiday plans.

"At a free clinic," Lance answered. "Some of the patients there are dealing with terminal cancer or the results of horrible accidents—like burns. They rarely get the psychological attention they deserve. I consider it kind of like…going to church," Lance finished softly. He looked away in embarrassment. He wished he hadn't said that either. Helping people helped Lance. That's all he knew. When he was hurting, he found solace in listening to and comforting others. It was an escape sure, but it made him feel less alone.

Angela looked impressed. "That's really nice of you. Could I come sometime?"

"What?" Lance asked unsure. Daisy had never asked to come to the clinic, he thought. Frankly, she was annoyed that he left to do more work on Sundays, considering his already packed schedule, and felt that he should be spending the time with her.

"I asked, can I come sometime? I used to do art therapy. I miss just talking to people who need someone to listen to them, you know?" Angela said.

Christmas seemed to be getting to everyone, Lance thought. "Of course, Angela. Of course you can come. You're right—they often just need someone to listen to them." Angela was a good listener; this was not Daisy's strong point. Lance was beginning to feel annoyed at himself for comparing the two women. He made an effort to stop.

"So, Booth's without Parker for Christmas," (Booth cringed), "Brennan's off to yet another Latin adventure," (Brennan shifted), "and Dr. Sweets is…?" Angela tried one last time.

"Catching up on some writing," Lance tried half heartedly.

"Oh, are you working on the book about us?" Dr. Brennan asked with interest.

"Yeah, Sweets. Are we ever going to get to see this mythic book?" Booth added.

Lance thought nervously, it's pretty much done. But as he'd said to Dr. Wyatt recently, he didn't have the guts to show anyone yet. He was actually thinking of letting Daisy read it and getting her opinion on the matter. He still wasn't convinced that the timing was right to reveal to Booth and Brennan that he believed them to be in love. At this moment, he was wishing someone had some penetrating insights into his relationship with Daisy. If only a book existed on the topic, then perhaps he could make sense of things. On the way to the bar, he had been passing by a gift shop and noticed a tiny Washington Nationals onesie. He wasn't even a Nationals' fan, but he had had an overpowering urge to buy it. He was still holding out the tiniest bit of hope that Daisy was pregnant, he realized. She was scheduled to go to the doctor in a few days to double check.

Lance never answered Booth's or Brennan's questions. He excused himself instead, ignoring the looks of wonder on his friends' faces as he rose from his stool. He went over in the corner and dialed Daisy again. It had only been about 30 minutes since they had last spoken, so she sounded a bit confused.

"Yes, baby? Everything ok?"

"Hi, Daisy. Yes, I'm fine. I just wanted to ask…you know your doctor's appointment?"

"You mean the one with the gynecologist?"

"Yeah. Um, can I come with you?" he asked tentatively.

"Uh…" Daisy seemed quite taken aback. "I guess. Yes. Why, Lancelot?"

"Daisy, I love you. I love you so much. I just want you to know that whatever happens, whatever challenges we face, I'm not going to desert you. I just want to be with you." Lance's voice was filled with ardor and sincerity.

Daisy was obviously touched and said, "Thanks, baby. I love you too!"

If listening to someone's voice could feel like a hug, then her exclamation enwrapped Lance in human warmth. They hung up, and he looked at the Christmasy trim above the bar once more. This time it made him smile.

Lance strode out into the cold and found a seasonal shop a few doors down. In he went amidst the bustle of Christmas shoppers. Then he saw it, a little headband with reindeer antlers and ears. It was just what Lance was looking for.


	11. The Goop on the Booth

_Thanks to those still following! This one's long. One more chapter to go. _

_Sweetfavoritethings-I'm glad you got a kick out of the antlers. :) RT-Angela's a truly caring soul. I think she and Sweets have a lot more in common than maybe she admits to herself! ;) Peatnutmeg-Thanks for being a faithful reader! *hugs*_

_

* * *

_

Lance sat in the doctor's office, turning over the Christmas present he had bought for Daisy in his hand. It was a tiny silver daisy on a delicate necklace chain. He felt a little odd sitting in the waiting room of the gynecologist—he was the only man there. But he'd needed to find a way to show Daisy that she could count on him, and for some reason this seemed symbolic. Besides, it was the middle of a work day, and it had been hard for Lance to get away from the office. Dr. Brennan had only reluctantly allowed Daisy off for her appointment, but Lance had stood up for his girlfriend. Dr. Brennan seemed to have a harder time resisting Lance's requests lately, which he found rather endearing.

He saw his peppy girlfriend spring toward him from a back room, and he stood up and gathered her in his arms.

"I'm not pregnant, Lancelot!" she exclaimed a little too loudly. A placid middle-aged black woman smiled to her magazine at the comment, Lance noted with embarrassment.

He hugged Daisy tightly and breathed in the vanilla scent of her hair. They began heading into the elevator, which was thankfully abandoned considering that Daisy proceeded to discuss her menstrual cycle.

"Dr. Allen says I probably missed my period from stress. You know, I've never been that regular ever since…since my eating disorder," she said a little seriously. But then she smiled again. "So, false alarm!"

Lance looked at her suggestively and said, "Well if you're stressed, then we need to find a way to relax you." He slipped an arm around her waist and very quietly in her ear said, "Rawr."

"Lancelot! You bad boy!" She swatted his behind and jumped away. "We both need to get back to work! Dr. Brennan was very adamant about me only being gone for an hour!"

"Don't allow Dr. Brennan to intimidate you. How does she know how long your appointment took? Let's slip back to my place, and then I'll bring you on to work," Lance suggested, pulling her back to him amorously.

Daisy was about to protest, when Lance bent over and nibbled her neck. She shrieked a little and succumbed to his charm.

Twenty minutes later they were lying in Lance's bed sweating. Lance nuzzled Daisy's neck, and admitted, "We should probably go."

Daisy replied, "Now that I know I'm not pregnant, I feel it's appropriate to gush over how completely adorable our children would be."

"Yeah?" Lance said, stroking her arm.

"Oh yeah! Your curls and plump lips, my hazel eyes and fine features—those kids would be gorgeous!"

Lance sighed and pulled her close, kissing the top of her silky head. He was so in love with this woman.

* * *

It was December 22, and Lance was in his office pondering Christmas plans once more. The dreaded day was fast approaching, and he hadn't even discussed it with Daisy. He had waited as long as possible and now needed to face the music. If he was going to be alone, so be it. Further, it wasn't kind to Daisy to put a damper on her holiday spirit. He needed to talk to her today.

As Lance was about to leave his office, he ran into Dr. Brennan and Booth. Booth appeared agitated, shifting from foot to foot.

"Sweets! Where are you going—we need you to do a profile!" Booth began.

"Ok, that's no problem. I'm heading to the Jeffersonian, but I'll do it as soon as I get back. What's the case?" Lance asked taking a file that Booth was thrusting at him and trying to not let Booth's aggressive approach get under his skin.

"Santa exploded on Booth this morning. Booth had particulates all over his clothes," Brennan explained in a blasé manner.

"Uhhh…excuse me?" Lance asked confused. He looked at Booth for help.

"This guy dressed up as Santa robbed a bank this morning. He had a bomb strapped to him and blew up right in front of me on the street," Booth explained.

Was that pain on his face? Lance worried. Yes, Booth was disturbed. The wheels in Lance's head turned. Booth had seen many men blown apart in war—hell, he had killed a number of men himself. This incident may have stirred Booth's war memories to the surface. He could be traumatized.

"Hey Agent Booth, are you ok? Do you need to talk?" Lance began to gesture toward his office, Daisy temporarily forgotten.

Booth rolled his eyes dramatically and gave Lance a gentle shove out of the way.

"No, I do not need to talk, Sweets. We're off to investigate a potential partner of Santa's."

Lance stared intently at his friend.

"Sweets! Stop looking at me like that. It's Christmas ok? Santa blew up. It sucks. No go get whatever it is you're doing done, so you can start this profile!" Booth was huffy.

Lance was about to comply, when Dr. Brennan caught his arm. "Dr. Sweets? Would you like to come to Christmas dinner at my house? I already mentioned it to Miss Wick this morning."

"I thought you were going to El Salvador." Lance narrowed his eyes.

"Max said he didn't want to be alone on Christmas. He's inviting some blood relative of mine to come for the holiday, and I'm having a gathering."

"A relative? Um, well, thank you very much for the invitation. That's thoughtful of you," Lance said, carefully rewarding her good behavior. Brennan's social skills were definitely improving. "I haven't really discussed plans yet with Daisy, but I'll consider it." Lance was touched.

As Sweets was leaving he thought, Poor Booth. He had already been expecting to have a bad Christmas. Now someone exploded in front of him, splattering him with human remains. Lance made a mental note to get Booth an extra special Christmas gift, though he was having trouble deciding what that might be.

Lance breezed over to the Jeffersonian and ran into Angela.

"Sweets—you missed quite a show this morning: Booth stripped down to his boxers and being wheeled around on a gurney by Brennan! Your girlfriend seemed quite intrigued by the sight, actually," Angela said, winking.

"Oh?" Lance asked curiously, his eyebrows lifting. He wasn't sure which emotion to run with—interest that Brennan had stripped Booth down to his boxers or jealousy that Daisy had enjoyed the sight of the half-naked Booth. He supposed he couldn't blame Daisy. Booth was quite built. Still, his heart decided for the moment on a twinge of jealousy.

He finally detected his girlfriend in a side room working on reconstructing a skull.

Lance apologized, "Daisy, I know you're busy, but I'm in a pickle." He explained that he didn't really celebrate Christmas since his parents had been gone, but he didn't want to dampen her holiday zest. He tried to keep his tone as light as possible considering the pall that threatened to descend over his heart every time he pondered this topic.

Then Daisy said something that shocked him. She didn't believe in celebrating Christmas when Jesus was actually born in March. Could it be possible that this woman was utterly perfect for him? She wasn't visiting her family at all. She was ignoring the holiday like Lance!

"Well what do we do on December 25th?" he asked.

Just when Lance thought things couldn't get any better, Daisy replied, "Would it be wrong if we just stayed in bed all day and had sex?" She almost growled this last part.

Lance was just about to say that sounded like a positively scrumptious idea, when Cam walked in. Lance's heart was racing with joy, and he barely registered when Cam asked them if they were going to Dr. Brennan's dinner. Cam suggested firmly that he clear off, which he did, but not before he and Daisy had exchanged I love yous via text lingo. She was so darn cute, he would begin counting down the hours to December 25th immediately.

* * *

Lance was listening in on Booth's interrogation of Malaki Wallace, a man who had been imprisoned for bomb making. The bomb found on Santa—whose name was Holden Chevaleer—was in the image of one Wallace's creations. The only problem was, as Booth was questioning Wallace, he seemed to have an alibi. Further, his bomb recipes could be accessed online.

Lance was on edge. While Booth was interrogating Wallace, the agent seemed to have a few examples of Wallace's work on hand—one of which he tossed at the glass where Lance was, startling him with a minor explosion. Lance wondered what was irking Booth and was the tiniest bit peeved that Booth would take it out on him. Lance was just trying to help.

When Booth finished with Wallace he rejoined Lance in the observation room.

"Agent Booth, what's going on?" Lance asked directly. He didn't feel like beating around the bush. They'd been through a lot with the Schriber case, and Lance had to admit he was momentarily weary of crime fighting.

"It's just that Wallace guy. He's so smug! And he has a website devoted to teaching people how to make destructive devices to use against their government," Booth complained.

Lance was getting the idea now. The U.S. government was the solid foundation Booth's sense of honor was built upon. He could not tolerate threats of anarchy.

Lance didn't feel like letting this go easily. "Look Booth, it must have been hard for you, seeing Holden Chevaleer explode in front of you. It must have brought back memories. You put your life on the line for your country, watched people you cared about die. It must hurt to think that Wallace would so nonchalantly dismiss the principles you've sacrificed for."

"Sweets, don't talk about things you have no idea about, ok? What do you know about war? Nothing. I'm not upset about that," Booth lied. "It's that other guy—Owen Theil—the talk radio guy. He puts lies into people's heads, tells them their country is out to get them. Creates conspiracy nuts like Hodgins but much, much worse."

Lance nodded, "Mm hm, I see."

"What do you see?" Booth growled.

"A challenge to your government is a challenge to your faith in the order of things. It unnerves you."

"It's a challenge to _your_ government, too, Sweets. I shouldn't have to remind you of that." Booth stuck out his lower jaw.

Lance put up his hands in defense. "Hey, I care for this country too-I work for the FBI, remember. I could do my job anywhere, but I wanted to serve my government. But I also understand that certain people who feel their rights are being repressed may act out in terrible ways. That's where you come in, Agent Booth. But don't take it to heart. I know it's hard for you with Parker gone right now."

Booth stared into the empty interrogation room. "Now Bones says she's canceling her dinner because she doesn't like her second cousin—Margaret Whitesell. She's apparently always quoting Benjamin Franklin and driving Bones crazy."

Lance pondered this strange information for a moment and said, "She'll come around, Booth. She wants to do right by her family," Lance thought, _including you_. "I think when she realizes that there is a better alternative this year to flying south for the winter, then she'll decide to stay."

Booth looked at Lance hopefully and then grunted a little.


	12. The Family in the Family

_Thanks for the reviews Mendenbar and RT! RT, once you read this I will say: Yes, I went there. We have all imagined Lance visiting his parents' final resting places. :) _

_I hope you two and everyone else enjoy the conclusion! Bye The Boy in the Field!  
_

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* * *

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On Christmas Eve, Lance stopped by the Jeffersonian to deliver the last of his gifts for his friends. He found Cam in her office, wrapping up some last minute work before the holiday and handed her a flowerpot filled with paperwhite bulbs.

"The flowers will come up in January," he explained. "Paperwhites always bring a little joy to the gloom of the new year!"

Cam looked quizzically at him. "I'm not sure which to respond to—your general message of woe or the cheer of your gift."

"Oh I just meant the weather in January is gloomy—not the new year! Sorry, that did come out wrong," Lance apologized and smiled.

"Well, thanks. That was thoughtful. I guess I'd better be going. I was going to help Michelle pack for her flight this evening."

Lance frowned. "Flight? Where is she going on Christmas Eve?"

Cam sighed, "To Hawaii with a friend."

"Really? Wow. How are you taking that? In fact, why are you letting her go?"

"I'm not sure really. I want to be this cool mom and everything, but I'll admit it's killing me to not spend Christmas with her."

Lance shook his head and pulled up a chair. "Dr. Saroyan, you are a cool mom—that goes without saying. You're an excellent mother! But you should go with your gut on this one. If you don't want Michelle to leave, then don't let her. She'll recover from the disappointment. She's got to understand that she's part of _your_ family now."

Cam looked distant and worried.

Lance continued. "I don't know if I've ever mentioned this to you, but I'm adopted." Cam registered this with a look of surprise, so Lance forged ahead rapidly. "All I really wanted were parents who loved me no matter what. And that's what I got. My parents always looked out for my best interests even when I didn't. You know? I have a great deal of respect for what you've done, taking on Michelle, Dr. Saroyan." Lance shook his head in wonder. "A sixteen year old who had just lost her father." He exhaled.

Lance felt emotional as he delivered this mini sermon. Michelle was acting the typical teen, but Lance felt sure she needed to learn this lesson. As much as Michelle had needed Cam, Cam now needed Michelle.

Cam looked at Lance for a long moment and responded, "I had no idea you were adopted, Dr. Sweets. And I think you're right. As hard as Michelle will take it, family should be together on Christmas."

Lance nodded and thought, family _should_ be together on Christmas. He and Daisy hadn't yet discussed if they were going to Dr. Brennan's dinner tomorrow, and he decided at this moment that that was where he was meant to spend Christmas.

As Lance was about to depart, Cam called, "Dr. Sweets?"

"Yes?" Lance asked warmly.

"Tomorrow morning Dr. Brennan wanted to go to Holden Chevaleer's burial. She said his mother, Abby doesn't have anyone else in the world…"

Lance quickly jumped in, "Daisy and I will be there. What time?"

"Ten in the morning at Glenwood Cemetery."

"Glenwood?" Lance asked startled.

"Yes, why?"

"Oh nothing, see you there."

Glenwood was where Lance's parents were buried. He wasn't expecting to see them tomorrow, but so be it. Christmas would be a day of family after all.

* * *

It had been snowing on and off all morning, and the marbled stones of Glenwood looked serene in their powdery white jackets. Lance and Daisy made their way toward Holden Chevaleer's final resting place. The gray grass was plastered together by ice and crackled a little as they walked.

"Daisy, can we take a detour?" Lance asked.

"Sure," she said distracted. She didn't ask why, perhaps because she'd already guessed. She was wearing the delicate silver daisy about her neck, and her hair was freshly curled. He squeezed her gloved hand as they walked.

She asked instead, "What made you decide you wanted to go to Dr. Brennan's tonight? I thought you were altogether opposed to celebrating Christmas?"

"Well, I guess I felt that Agent Booth needed me, and frankly, I need him too."

She furrowed her brow. She never did seem to understand the connection between Lance and Booth. But Lance didn't press it.

"Well, here they are." He stopped in front of his parents' graves and gazed at them with a little smile.

"What was your mother like, Lance?" Daisy asked. She took off her glove and allowed the warmth of her hand to penetrate Lance's chilly skin.

"Oh, she was…beautiful. She laughed a lot. She was very kind and sincerely loved people and life." It was hard to describe someone Lance loved so much. He felt sad that Daisy would never meet her.

"She sounds a lot like you!"

Lance widened his eyes. Perhaps he was a lot like his mother. Daisy had no idea what a compliment that was.

"And your father?" she continued.

"He was…a little tough on the outside, but very loyal and loving at his core. He knew how to not take things too seriously. To joke and enjoy life." Lance shook his head. "I miss them this time of year."

This was the first time he'd ever admitted this out loud, and to his surprise, instead of making him tear up, he felt better for having confessed it.

Daisy stood on her tip toes and kissed Lance's cheek. "I'm sorry they're gone. I would have liked to have met the people who made you my perfect Lancelot!"

Lance was touched by the truth of this statement. More than anyone his parents had shaped him. He supposed this was true for most people, but in his case, his parents had whisked him away from a ruined life and patiently built for him a new one brick by brick.

He smiled at Daisy. "Let's go find the others."

* * *

Later that night at Brennan's Christmas dinner, Booth was making a toast.

"To family, friends, lovers, family, and food."

As the snow fell peacefully outside the window behind Lance, he gazed over at his lover, who smiled adoringly back. He then looked at his friends from the Jeffersonian. Booth had said the word family twice. The toast hadn't been redundant, as Brennan had objected. There was family, and there was family. Lance was lucky that in giving up his parents, he had gained Angela, Hodgins, Cam, and especially Brennan and Booth. Perhaps it was time to give up the anti-Christmas spirit and embrace what was right in front of him.


End file.
